The crew members scrambled, their voices echoing through the metal halls as they tried to assess the situation. But she couldn’t. At 24 years old, Sofia was a young woman by the standards of the Imperium, but her experiences had already sculpted her into something much more. They just wanted to get out. It was a familiar sensation, one she had experienced before in battle, but never to this degree. To her, the vast expanse of the warship was a second home, every vent, every passageway, every compartment etched into her mind. By the time she was old enough, she had enlisted in the Astra Militarum, determined to carve out a life of purpose and discipline. Her body was equally captivating—slim, toned, and lithe, her movements graceful but purposeful. It filled the crawl space like a psychic flare, vibrating through the metal, freezing every soldier behind her in paralyzed horror. Her voice didn’t come. She tried to resist — clenched her jaw, willed herself to stop—but her body betrayed her, her arm moving with disturbing precision and
